A Hermit With A Mustache...

   
        I am tired of the OCD pushing me into a dark corner. I want to shine and feel the sun on my face again. I want to taste the air and feel it on my skin. Sink my feet into the dew dampened earth and breathe in the warm scent of rain. I want to appreciate the silence of winter only broken by the eerie skeleton bone sound, the ice covered tree limbs make whilst clinking together in the wind. I will be damned if this mental illness is going to steal one more thing from me. I don't care how small it is. I can do this. I will do this. I am doing this and my OCD can go to hell, where it belongs. I am stronger than it ever thought of being. I just want my OCD to know that I am still here, standing, climbing, crawling, and fighting even though that's not what it wants. I am not going anywhere and I clearly am not going to bow down to it. I am the warrior of my own mind and I will NEVER give up.


       My son jokingly called me a hermit last night.... I have yet to bloom into my full hermit mode, in my opinion. But as I told him with a strong sense of self assurance, I fully expect to get to that point by my mid sixties. I also plan to get one of those mustache tattoos on the inside of my pointer finger so when I put my hands a certain way on my face, I can look as if I have a handle bar mustache. No, I do not care if that is cliche. It's gonna happen....

        I guess I am closed inside my home more than most people, but I have been slowly working on it. I now walk outside for around four miles every other day for exercise. I sometimes sit on my front porch to read. I even went to the grocery store all by myself the other day. I dressed up a bit to go, so I felt good about myself. It was kind of nerve wracking but I didn't have a full nuclear meltdown. I was pretty proud of myself. I am thirty six years old and that was the first time I remember going anywhere completely on my own in the last few years. It wasn't too bad. I may do it again sometime. In all honesty, I was more worried about the fact that my dress was shorter than I was used to and I was afraid one wrong move could show the world my rear end. It didn't but I can't be sure if it was because it was just me being afraid of something new and well fitting or because I did some side ways calisthenics to get the things from the bottom shelves without bending over,  just to be sure. All I can say, is no hind ends were shown and that is a win for me.


           I also have been trying to broaden my horizons with my writing. I was actually terrified to write my piece on the Willard Suitcases. I was afraid that it wasn't good enough or that I would fail and let everyone down. I was afraid it wouldn't read well or that my opinion wouldn't come across. I not only second guessed myself, I third, and fourth , and one hundred and sixty eighth guessed myself. But I think when you have a passion you have to be willing to try even if failure is an option. Thankfully, it was readable and became a post I am very proud of. I got nothing but positive feedback from it which assuaged away any fears of what I sometimes see as my own shortcomings, whether they be real or imagined.

            Last year, I pitched a writing piece to an online magazine hoping they would publish it. They didn't and I shouldn't have tried at that time, anyway, because I wasn't really ready. It just reinforced my OCD negative thinking.  I want to keep trying  new things and sometimes when I have gotten an opportunity to be a part of something small,  I get scared and end up not doing it.  That has to stop. I know that I am a decent writer and that just because something I write does not get picked does not mean anything more than it was not what they were looking for. All of the "I am not good enough", "I am a failure", "Who would want to read something a thirty six year old high school dropout would write, anyway?" OCD thinking can not be allowed to take over my life. I don't need to listen to the lies I tell myself because of my OCD. I am capable of anything I put my mind to, including writing.

            To prove to myself I am at a better place mentally, I sent in a writing piece to a different online magazine. I don't feel worried about it. If they don't choose it, I am not going to be upset. I know it has nothing to do with me personally, nor does it speak of  my skill set. I have to keep trying new things. So, I am going to, and see what happens. If it doesn't pan out, who cares? It is not the end of the world. Publishing doesn't define me, I define me. Getting printed doesn't make me any more or any less talented. I am secure enough in myself now, to have a to hell with it attitude. If it works, awesome, If it doesn't, I will keep trying.

             I am afraid of rejection but I can't let rejection make me fear living my life. Hell, I am afraid of a lot of things. You can't live your life if fear controls it. The worst thing that could happen from this is people saying no. I mean, big deal. It's not like I have never been told no before. So, here I go slowly putting my toes in the water. I hope that it all goes well, but if it doesn't I can handle that too.  My OCD isn't going to be allowed to drive me around anymore. This is my life and I aim to step out of the backseat and actually live it.


Neurotic Nelly

Sooooo Overrated......

I am tired. So very tired. I have been so busy, I am not even sure what day it is. It is Tuesday right? I hope so, otherwise I have written on the wrong day.....again. This online school stuff with my oldest takes all day and it leaves me with virtually no time to clean my house like I need to. It is slowly driving me insane. This must be what is like to be a teacher. We don't pay them enough...they need more incentives because this shit is hard. I have to do math now......math!!!! Ugh.

I was trying to decide what to write about today, and I would like to write something informative but I am distracted by the fact that my 22 lb orange tabby smells like he has rolled in the litter box again. He hasn't because he is too fat to do so but I am wracking my brain on how he could clean himself every second of everyday and yet he still smells so horrid. I am going to have to give him a bath. As in, a real bath with actual water. I don't think this is going to be pleasant for either one of us. In fact, I am writing now because I am somewhat concerned that I won't be physically able to type after I do bathe my fat fur baby. I like my arms to be scratch free but I like my house not to reek of stinky cat more....If you don't hear from me on Thursday than you know my cat was extremely displeased and went all Cujo on me. Yikes.

Okay enough of my crazy everyday life problems. Seriously, I have no idea why I felt the need to write all of that. I apologize for making you read such drivel but that is what was on my OCD mind and I always like to write about whatever nutso thing is going through my head when I sit down to blog, God help us all...On to today's post.
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I was reading some posts today and I ran across the topic of self esteem. I think most people suffer from self esteem issues in their life times. I mean, if they don't then they are seriously lucky and should probably play the slot machines in Vegas. Self esteem issues seem to be a right of passage for most of us. It is even more of an issue for people that suffer from mental illness.

We suffer and because we suffer, we often times feel bad about ourselves. If it isn't the emotional turmoil we deal with on a daily basis, than it is the negative voice that tells us how worthless we think we are. It tells us how broken we are. How unlike everyone else we seem to be. We try and ignore it but it is hard to ignore a voice that lives in your own head. It isn't as if you can simply out run your own mind.

And like most people with low self esteem, we end up doing things that we feel even worse about later. We often end up being over sexualized so we can feel like we are desired. We usually feel like crap afterwards but in a rush to feel accepted, we often will go through demeaning things just to be "liked" no matter how fleeting that feeling may be. We can end up trying "illegal substances" or drinking alcohol too much. We end up in bad relationships and tend to put up with other people's abuse because we deep down feel that it is what we deserve. We sadly, end up being taken advantage of or manipulated more often than we realize. Why?

Because we want to be loved. We want to feel less alone. We want to finally fit in. We yearn to be acknowledged and accepted. We struggle to fill this hole that lives inside us, without ever realizing that we need to fill that hole not with others opinions of us but with ourselves. To put it simply, we look to be accepted because often times we struggle with accepting ourselves and it is painful. We know that we are different and we place blame on ourselves for that. It is a form of self destruction even though we don't always see that is what we are doing.

It takes a lot of years to reach the conclusion that the only opinion that really changes your life, is the opinion you have about your own self. If you call yourself stupid or worthless than you never see that you are in fact, neither of those things. We develop habits of putting ourselves down.

Much like an abusive relationship, we slowly grind our own self esteem down further. It is like an abusive relationship because it is, in fact, an abusive relationship. We are in an abusive relationship with ourselves. We punish ourselves. We degrade ourselves and we don't even realize we are doing it.

The truth is, that we are different. That we feel things in a different way than others. That we struggle. That we have issues but none of that makes us bad or worthless. If anything it makes us stronger than the average person. It makes us wiser and more compassionate. We beat ourselves up for things that we can not help and that is rather pointless, now isn't it. There are things we can change about ourselves and there are things that we can't but that in no way makes us broken. It in no way makes us less than. It simply makes us....well us.  And frankly, whether we know it or not, we are truly magnificent and wonderful people. We just have to realize that we are worth more than we give ourselves credit for and stop letting others dictate how much love we deserve. If we can learn to love ourselves first, then their opinions don't mean Jack. And Jack is sooooo overrated anyways. We deserve better than being someone's after thought or someone else's entertainment. We deserve to love ourselves.


Neurotic Nelly

Thoughts at 9 A.M..........

Beauty........Just what is beautiful?...............................And is it worth dying for?


I was born in the late seventies with my mother wearing bell bottoms and funky peace signs. I grew up in the eighties and nineties watching her painstakingly adjust her shoulder pads and fluff out her permed monstrosity she called a hair do. I remember "Sweating To The Oldies" with my mother in our guest room turned ala workout studio. I remember my mom squeezing herself into too tight of shiny black spandex and thick white sweat bands working out, trying like all get out to achieve a body image much like Olivia Newton John. I remember her fad diets and her exuberant smile when the pounds melted off. But mostly I remember her disappointment that even after all of the hard work and diets that her body never looked like Olivia's. No matter how hard she tried. She felt bad. She felt inadequate.


I also remember looking at my Barbie doll and wishing that I too would look as fantastic when I grew up. That my kinky red hair would turn a gorgeous shade of platinum blonde, that my freckled pasty skin would one day have that "Florida tan", that my boobs would stand out without a bra, and mostly that I would have a tiny little waist that would compliment my perfectly balanced and yet adorable tip toed feet.....

I was devastated when my mom explained to me at the tender age of seven (after I called my 57 lb body fat) that no, I would never look like a Barbie doll. Because Barbie was made of plastic and that wasn't what a real woman's body looked like....Looking back on it, I wonder why that same process of thought hadn't occurred to her that she would never look like Olivia Newton John either, because my mom had a different woman's body type. We were both stuck in a viscous cycle of hating  and punishing our bodies to make them appear to be something they could never be...perfect.

I truly believe that a driving force, but not the only force, of having eating disorders do come from the ridiculous ideals of what we believe being beautiful is. Now a days, we have models that look more like heroin addicts rather than real and healthy women. Clothes are paraded down red carpets on models with no curves, no breasts, no hips. Actresses are constantly told to lose weight to appear smaller on film. Magazines broadcast tiny framed women with skeletal shoulder blades and frail arms making their heads seem large and cartoonish. Their frames resemble prepubescent boys rather than women. It infuriates me. I remember growing up when models like Cindy Crawford were thought of as beautiful. In reality, she is much slimmer than the average woman and yet, today she would be considered a plus size model. She is a size 10.

 Why we take such direction from some of the clothing designers (male especially), or critics that point out just is wrong with our bodies is a mystery to me. I mean, have you seen these people? Why in the hell would I take beauty advice from someone who has so much collagen in their lips that they could double as flotation devices or have had so much plastic surgery that they can no longer close their eyes properly? What does a man know about having a woman's body? How it moves? How it ages? How it changes after children or puberty, even?

Then we go a step further and actually "fat shame" other women ourselves. We have bought into this facade of what beauty means and we perpetuate it on others. How dare she gain fifteen extra pounds! How dare she wear that too tight of shirt! Why is that fat girl not eating a salad!?!

We judge others on such paltry things such as breast size, butt shape, the diameter of the waist. We are so obsessed with weight that there are literally millions of dollars being made at our expense so we can shrivel up further to meet an image that was never really real to begin with. Why do we do it?

The old joke of a woman asking her husband if her dress makes her look fat or if her pants make her ass look fat is only funny because it is true. We judge ourselves and fear others will to, simply by how our butt looks in a pair of jeans. God forbid we actually have an ass to begin with. We wouldn't want to be known as a "fat ass".

We judge ourselves. Looking down in the mirror with our foreheads wrinkled and mouth twisted with a grimace as we pinch our stomach rolls or fatty tissues blaming and shaming ourselves for not looking more like a Victoria's Secret model. It makes no difference in our eyes that those rolls have been earned by actually living, giving birth, medications, or what have you. We hate them and worse, we hate ourselves for still carrying them around.

We tell our children that they are beautiful no matter what and yet we do not hold ourselves to those same standards. Children aren't stupid. They repeat what they see and they do what we do.

If I had a dime for every time I read a facebook post from a teenage girl claiming how ugly or fat she was, I would be one rich woman. These girls who are almost always thin, that spend countless hours taking selfies in the bathroom mirror, can't see their worth or their potential as a human being because they think that beauty is the only measure in which you can be counted. They only see that if they turn sideways they are not translucent and therefore they feel they are still not good enough.

It is ridiculous that we hold ourselves to these unrealistic expectations. Especially, when those people we see on tv and magazines and movies cant hold themselves to those expectations either. That is what Photoshop and make up shading is for. We have unknowingly created an epidemic of women hating their bodies, hating themselves, and believing that they are not beautiful because of what the scale says. Now I know, that eating disorders are not just about that. There is other things at play, but the media does not help. We have become a world obsessed with beauty, weight, and dress size. And we have become delusional to the point where we actually feel that those three things are inherently connected. The dysfunction starts with younger and younger girls. They learn to despise their bodies early on from ages of three to five. They continue to hate themselves and their looks all through their lives never realizing that no one can stand up to these expectations. Models starve themselves, actresses have plastic surgeries and special diets. We live in a world where the average female adult is a size 14. Our actresses tend to range from size 2-4. Our runway models are a size 0. We are told we have to look a certain way, act a certain way, dress a certain way or we are just not good enough. We are not beautiful.

 And I know that although eating disorders aren't just about the public's view of women, I truly believe it helps promote shame and misguided self views. Since birth when we are made to feel inadequate simply because we may take more than one yard of material to make a garment that fits us. We hold ourselves so low that we actually feel less than because our dress size isn't what the media says it should be.

We constantly talk about praising ourselves as women and yet each day we look in the mirror and we do the exact opposite. We aren't celebrating ourselves and our worth as women, we are condemning ourselves. We are shaming ourselves. We have forgotten that beauty doesn't rely on how fat our ass is or how pouchy our stomachs have become. Beauty is in our strength, our compassion, our intelligence, our bodies are beautiful. We make and carry children with them. And we make milk for those children with them. We hold our loved ones with them. We can be firefighters, and doctors, and teachers, and soldiers, astronauts, and stay at home moms, and bloggers, and scientists, and anything we ever dreamed....with our beautiful magnificent bodies....that we take for granted. Because we have the nerve to have more than just a jutting hip bone for thighs.

We keep calling models curvy....where the hell are the curves? I keep looking. I don't see how that word applies to them. Can someone point them out to me? Because curves don't mean hip bones and shoulder joints. It means glorious fat under the skin thus forming a rounded shape...A.K.A curves.

Fundamentally it shouldn't matter what size you are, what body shape you have, or what the scale says. Beauty is not a number. Not a number on a scale, nor an age, nor a dress size. Beauty has nothing to do with mathematics or the garment industry. Beauty is who you are as a person and your belief in your own personal worth. That's it. That is all beauty is. It's love and compassion and the small things you do everyday to help others. It is not a make up brand or a high heel. It is what you carry on the inside.

When we have little girls telling their mommies that they are fat, there is a problem. When we have teenagers worrying more about waist size rather than getting a good education, there is a problem. When these young women and children start starving themselves to be thin, there is a problem. When we sit in a dressing room calling ourselves ugly defaming names because the tiny swim suit makes us hate ourselves, there is a problem. We are worth so much more than that.

When did we start lying to ourselves that healthy means rail thin? Being grossly over weight isn't healthy but neither is being underweight.

Our bodies are our bodies. We don't need to compare them or make labels for them. They aren't a music genre. They are our flesh and bone. They are a part of us and it is high time we stop letting other people tell us that they aren't the magnificent creations they are. Whether you are a size 0 or a size 47, you are beautiful. Whether you have small breasts or large breasts, you are beautiful. Whether you have a fat ass or no ass at all. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!

Being fat isn't disgusting. Being thin isn't the most important thing in life. Being healthy does not mean starving yourself.

You already have the beauty you think you are lacking. It is in the scars that you have, in the flaws that make you unique, in the smile lines around your eyes, in the strength of your personality, in the life that you are living. You don't need to kill yourself to be what you already are. Own your body. Love it. Accept it because it is beautiful and you deserve to know the truth. You are already what you are seeking. Own it.

Neurotic Nelly

Letting Go

I overheard a quote once that said "Hate is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die."

I always liked that quote and still I drank my poison down. It tasted bitter like whiskey and cigarettes, burned match tops and rancid pool water. It choked me and set up residence in my bloodstream. Like any aggressive infection it spread into other parts of my life. It leaked into my relationships, my dreams, my self esteem. It haunted me like an ancestor's ghost. Stalked me like a dark shadow waiting to pounce. Stifled my other emotions. Raged like the angry waves after a storm and ravished my every thought and notion.
It was a fever I could not break. A wall I could not tear down. A memory I could not shatter no matter how hard I tried.  I felt like hollowed  bones buried in hallowed ground. I was unable to be free of the rage and anger and it made me hate.

I was angry because I was afflicted. I raged because I could not be normal. I denied my issues and tried to stuff them back down. Mental illness does not go away just because you refuse to accept that you have one. I learned this the hard way and as such I hated it, hated my life, and worse yet hated myself for not being like everyone else. Accusatory glances were thrown in my direction and they all came from the mirror. I self hated so much it became a habit. I would blame myself for things that I had no part of. I would say derogatory things to myself. I put myself down on a daily basis. I was so angry that finally I was unable to function anymore. Anger and rage are exhausting. It takes a lot of energy to keep up the rage and hatred. Like a child that falls asleep after throwing a huge fit complete with screaming, kicking, and crying. The energy is drained and you no longer are able to sustain. My anger and hatred were for all intensive purposes  me throwing a major fit. Raging against the machine of my mind, raging against the ocean of negative thoughts, raging against the fact I would never be normal.

It was a blow to my psyche. I had to accept the inevitable. I am altered. I am different. I am sometimes broken. It took me a long time to be able to accept what so blatantly was staring me in the face. Once the hate, anger, and rage subsided I was able to have a moment of clarity. Clarity is always a good friend.

What I know about life is limited. Limited by the fact that I do not and am not able to see the world through rose colored glasses. I see things in a different way because my mind is different. What isn't limited is that I feel things in a more sensitive way. I am sensitive to other's pain and suffering. Sensitive to praise and acceptance. Sensitive to all the emotions around me. I not only see things differently but I feel them differently. I feel them more intensely.  That doesn't mean that I am stupid or weak.

It took me years to realize that having a mental illness does not mean that I am weak. [tweet this]. It does not mean that I am ugly. It does not make me stupid, crazy, or unlovable. It simply sets me apart from the rest of society. It makes me different. It makes me unable to do some things but at the same time it has made me try things I never would have otherwise.

If I had never had mental illness, I would not be exactly where I am today. I would not have the passion to reach out to others that suffer from mental illness. I would not be blogging about mental illness or creating google groups for it. I would not read about it's issues and what is going on the mental illness community. I am sure I would have a passion for something else, but right now because of my past issues, I have this passion. It's a beautiful thing to struggle and come out on the other side. Once I put down the anger, hatred, and self blame I realized that although my life may not be what I had envisioned, it could still be good. It could be better than good, it could be remarkable. My life is remarkable to me. I don't have to be like anyone else or think like anyone else to be happy. I can be happy just being me. I still have hard days. My mental illness will never go away. It is always going to be with me. I can sometimes feel broken, but I realize that I am not as fragile as I once was. I realize that I am exactly where I am supposed to be and doing exactly what I am supposed to do.  I let go of my anger and I gained something much more important back, I gained myself back. I gained my life back. I gained an understanding of my mental illness and an acceptance of it. As I learned to let go I learned to accept. Accept not just what I have but accept who I am as a person, a mother, a friend, and a woman who suffers from mental illness.
                          Neurotic Nelly

Selfless

I read a post a post the other day I felt I just had to comment on. Mostly, because I have felt the same as this person had. When I was depressed I felt very selfish. I felt selfish because I was unable to connect with others or truly listen to conversations. I was unable to enjoy time doing anything that I had previously loved doing. I was totally numb except for the excruciating pain that seemed to dwell inside my soul. I was exhausted and so distraught. I was a shell of my former self and felt powerless to do anything about it. It was then that I contemplated suicide.
Suicide is a selfish act. Even considering it was very selfish of me. It would have crushed my family and friends. It would have been a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I was in so much pain that I simply failed to see that.
I am very glad that I got help. It was the only way to pull me back from the cliff of pain I was falling off of. I am thankful everyday. However, it bothers me when I hear or read that some think they are selfish for not being able to feel. Some think they are selfish because they are hurting and can't seem to snap out of it. Mental illness is an illness not a choice. No one chooses to hurt or suffer. No one chooses to be numb.
Being selfish is a choice.
Selfish is hurting someone for your own personal gain. Selfish is taking advantage of people because you want something for yourself. Selfish is stealing or "borrowing" without asking. Selfish is not caring who you push down because you only think of yourself, your wants and your needs.
The author of this post was asking if selflessness was possible for her. I had to state the truth. Somehow we picture that selflessness is only when you do something insanely heroic. It seems we equate it with things like jumping in front of a bullet for a stranger. Yes, that is selflessness, but selflessness is also doing something for someone else and not expecting any thing back. You do it because you are nice. You do it because you care about their feelings. You do it because you love them. We do selfless things everyday with no ticker tape parade or banners proclaiming our good deeds. Listening to your significant other's  problems when you are tired is selfless. Going over to someone's home when you would rather stay home, but you do it to make them happy, is a form of selflessness. Taking a few extra minutes to open a door for a stranger is not only being kind but being selfless. Putting ones needs or wants in front of your own, no matter how small is being selfless. It doesn't have to be news worthy to be anymore important. .Any time you give your time, money, or help and ask for nothing back you are being selfless. Many times we as mentally ill people, give and give. Right or wrong, we often  put our illness in the background and try to do the things that makes the loved one's in our lives happy. One word, selfless.
Maybe it is because as a mentally ill person we tend to be so critical of ourselves. We tend to self hate or at least judge ourselves more harshly than we would others in the same position. We have to realize that we are ill but we are not defunct. We are selfless everyday. The fact that we are honest about our mental illness is being selfless. We know that we could be judged, but we want to help others like us. Guess what? That is selfless too. So let's take a moment and look in the mirror. We are may not be everything we want to be but we are definitely what we need to be. We are strong. We are caring. We are humble and most of all we are selfless.
                                          Neurotic Nelly

Crossroads

Yesterday, a local teenager went to school and shot himself in his home room class. As I write this, he is in critical condition. I have to wonder as heart broken as I am, what is wrong in his life that this seemed like the only option. I don't have to wonder very hard because I have been there at that crossroads before. I think many have. My heart aches for him and his family and friends. I pray that he gets better and the help that he so desperately needs. I sat there watching the news crying, not because I know him, but because I am a mother. Because at one time I was so very close to being just like him. Because there are so many who are like him and feel trapped and alone.

I was asked once why do I write about about mental illness. This is why. I believe that honesty is the only way to help others. I don't just put myself out there because I like to hear myself type, I truly believe that if we stand up and say, "I have mental illness", we are saving others. We are showing them it is ok to suffer from mental illness.That we can have good decent lives. We are not doomed to live in caves or asylums drooling on ourselves and banging our heads on the walls. That we are not dirty, shameful, dangerous creatures. We are like everyone else and we don't have to suffer in silence. There is help. I truly believe that we are doing the best thing that can be done. We are shining our lights on the stigma. We are shining lights on the pain and suffering.  We are guiding those that need us, to an enlightened truth. We are worthy and strong individuals. That there is a possibility of a different tomorrow.
There are so many ways to get help today. There are websites, communities, phone lines, doctors, hospitals, blogs, online references, organizations, and charities. There are movies and t.v. shows. Mental illness is no longer the dirty little secret, because we as those that suffer from it, are not going to allow it to be anymore. There is nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing to hide from. We are so many and we deserve to be heard.
I was reading on TMZ that a famous actress was going to treatment for bipolar. I scrolled down to the comments and I was flabbergasted.  Out of the twelve comments, only two were negative. The rest were supportive and understanding. I was so proud. Not because I had anything to do with their opinions. None of them have read my blog or even know I exist.  I was proud because through all the hard work of those that suffer from mental illness and their organizations, people have listened and learned. It is a beautiful thing.
So, when I say we can change the world, I mean it. If we all stand up and are honest, people will learn. People suffering will get better.We can offer them hope when they are at the crossroads because we have stood where they stand. We have had to make a choice and we can help them to see the right one. We can offer something that others can not, promise. Promise because we are proof that there is a better path. That the fight is worth fighting. That we can and do live productive and meaningful lives. That we can still be what we want and we can fulfill our dreams. That we matter.
Promise of a future is what we offer to others. Will life be easy? No, but it will be worth the struggle. Will it be everything a person could want? It will be whatever we choose for it to be. Will it be different than normal people's future? Probably, but isn't different an amazingly beautiful thing?
We stand united. We stand for what is right. We stand at the crossroads and we are choosing. We choose for ourselves but also for others. We are going to be the examples of mental illness the world needs. Examples of strength. Examples of wisdom. Examples of kindness and compassion. Most of all, we are examples of honesty and hope.
                          Neurotic Nelly

Misconceptions of the Mentally Ill

I think I am loosing my pea picking mind. As my son pointed out, you can't loose anything you never had, Mom. Sigh, sarcasm that kid, I don't know where he gets it.

A couple of days ago I was told by someone that everyone had a little OCD. Eye roll.....My reaction was one of anger and frustration. I wanted to punch something. I can't punch anything because my middle finger has been broken and is in the process of healing. Albeit, it is kind of gnarled and crooked still.

Then I realized I can not be angry by this person's slip up. It is not their fault they have been misguided or led  to wrong conclusions. There is still misinformation out there. I feel like my posts can be redundant and repetitive on this subject, but apparently I need to keep talking about it.

I have never met anyone that is proud to have OCD. We are too busy sitting in a back room somewhere knitting ourselves a sweater out of our tears and guilt. We are proud that we are learning to live our lives with  this disorder, but certainly no one is proud to have this pain in our lives.

One would never say everyone is a little bipolar or everyone is a little schizophrenic. If they do, I have never heard of such. It really burns my butt. Seriously, it irritates me. I try very hard to put out the correct information out there without being snarky. Sometimes it is an up hill battle.

So  I am going to list some common misconceptions, bare with me.

 Anal retentive or quirky people. Some people are anal retentive and quirky. This does not mean they suffer from OCD. OCD is an anxiety disorder that may or may not have symptoms of being organizational or liking things in a certain way. If there is no identifiable anxiety then it is not OCD. If there is no intrusive thoughts or obsessions then it is not OCD. Some people just like to be orderly. There is nothing wrong with that and it does not mean that there is mental illness involved. Everyone has quirks not OCD. It is not called, Quirky compulsive disorder, after all.

Awkward people. There are a lot of people that are awkward in social situations. They are awkward in their clothing choices, body movements, and awkward in their own skin. Awkwardness is not mental illness. There is nothing that says being odd means you are mentally ill. It might mean there are self esteem issues that might require therapy. Therapy is not for just people with mental illness. Self esteem issues, in itself, is not a mental illness. Although, most of us with mental illness struggle with self esteem issues. Some awkward people do have mental illness but not all and therefore we can not just assume that they do. Some people are just awkward and there is nothing wrong with that.

Angry people. Some people have anger issues. Anger issues is generally a learned response. There are always exceptions to the rule. It is good to have therapy if you suffer from anger management problems. Anger ,in itself, does not mean that you have mental illness. We can not assume that if you have an anger problem that you have a mental illness unless you have been diagnosed with one. Not all angry people are mentally ill.

Manipulative Asswholes.  Some people are manipulative, self serving, selfish, asswholes. This is their personality. They want what they want when they want it. This is a personality flaw and not mental illness. They can be users and emotional vampires. They are predators of the weak and nice. They take and take and take. Yes, there could be a mental illness in some of them, but guess what? Some people are just jerks. We can not assume that because they are rude, mean, narcissistic, or manipulative that they are that way because they are mentally ill. Some people are just asshats.

 Bat (expletive for poop) crazy. Some people are so far gone in their illness or lives, they have lost the will to feel to the point they are bat (expletive for poop) crazy. They most likely have had some form of mental illness but have lost the will to be treated. They no longer have normal human emotions. They do not care of consequences or feel any empathy towards others.These people are the most damaging to the normal mentally ill. The media jumps on the mental illness diagnosis band wagon, when bat (expletive for poop) crazy people become violent and do horrible things. None of these, by the way have been diagnosed with a particular mental illness. If they have, it has not been released to the public. There have been rumors and these are damaging as well. It promotes false fear and stigmatizes us in the mental illness community. People become unfairly afraid of us. Most mentally ill people are NOT bat (expletive for poop) crazy.

Just because there are times that you come across someone whose awkwardness or quirkiness makes you uncomfortable, does not not mean that they are mentally ill. There is a problem with labeling actions that we don't understand as mental illness. There is many personality flaws that can be misconstrued as mental disorders. That does not make them so. Just because someone upsets you with their anger management issues or tries to manipulate you, does not mean that they are mentally ill. They could be in need of therapy or just have that kind of personality. Mental illness has to be diagnosed by a psychiatrist. If you are not a psychiatrist then please do the mental illness community a favor and not try to diagnose anyone. It is hurtful and down right annoying. Be aware that people with mental illness are mostly caring, sensitive, and creative people. [tweet this]. That we are working on a daily basis to be better and deal with the hell that mental illness causes in our lives. We are trying and we ask you to do the same. Thank you.
                                              Neurotic Nelly
                                         

Commitment issues

Commitment issues. I am the poster child for commitment issues. Not relationship wise but with other things. I love people with tattoos. I think they are very creative and beautiful. I especially love the tattoo sleeves. I could never do that. I could never commit to something that permanent.

  I was always called the goody two shoes growing up. It is not that I don't like fun. I am not a fan of risk. It is because of my OCD. It has kept me safe as a child a teenager. Whispering things to me to prevent me from doing dangerous things. No car surfing or touching light sockets for me. I have always been to sensitive to hurt others or do something that would upset others. I never stole or lied. I never went out past my curfew. I never snuck out of the house. That would upset my mother and I would never purposely do that. It was because I respect her but it was on a greater level my OCD. I was always made fun of because of my hesitation to do things other children or teenagers would do. My OCD has always had it's input in my actions. So much so, that I avoided things in my life that I might have had a great time doing. They were deemed dangerous to my brain and so I always said no. I don't regret it, but sometimes I wonder if I come off as a flake or boring.

I would love to have full sleeves of tattoos but I know that it is not my personality. I would love to wear my hair in a Betty Page style but I would never try. It would be something I would probably end up hating and might not look good on me.  Then I would be stuck looking stupid until it grew back. I can't commit to it.

I march to the beat of my own drum , but I have major respect for those that go further. They are amazing to me. They are something I have never been. They are not afraid of rejection or judgment. They just walk down the street like a colorful bauble admist the grey. They stand out and they are brave and beautiful. I always wanted to be the bad ass chick everyone respected. Instead I am the straight laced quiet girl that loves vintage clothes and shoes. I am a nerdy, funny, woman who never steps out of her bounds. Fear is a palpable motivator.

If my mind were a visible thing. I think it would be tattoos and designs. It would be colorful and wispy. It would be loud music and crazy fashions. It would be rock posters and country western boots. It would be Dr. Who scarves and crazy big hats. It would be shiny baubles and rusted keys. It would show all that I am and all that I would like to be.\

We all think about things we wish we could do or be. It is only natural to wonder what it is like being someone else. When I walk down the street and walk past someone, I always wonder what their life is like. Is their family good to them? What do they do for fun? What is dinner like at their dinner table? Do all the kids  run to the table and discuss their days with each other? What music do they listen to? What are their opinions and beliefs? I guess I am weird.

I am a thinker. I think way more than I should. I over analyze everything. I am always running through things in my mind. 

I think different is beautiful. [tweet this]. I think odd is magnificent. I don't want to be like everyone else. Unique is a magical thing. It is freeing. I love that people can be themselves and be unafraid of others reactions. I am not totally able to feel that way. I am working on it, though.

Embrace

Everyone judges themselves. People with mental illness just cant seem to stop judging themselves so harshly. We can't seem to truly forgive ourselves for not being perfect. We tend to say such horrid things about ourselves. We use such damaging words. Stupid, crazy, selfish, unlovable, unacceptable, unworthy, ugly. We are none of these things. These words are not true and yet we all have called ourselves these things at one time or another. I have no idea why we do this. Why do we hold ourselves to such high standards but seem fine with not holding "normal" people to the same standards? Because we think we should be able to do things that we can not and then we blame ourselves? We punish ourselves. Destined to stand in the corner ashamed. Why?
No one is perfect. There is no shame in asking for help. There is nothing that we should blame ourselves for. You don't blame a person with a disease for their illness. Why do we blame ourselves for ours? Why are we so harsh and judgmental on ourselves? Everyone deserves acceptance and understanding. Everyone makes mistakes. We grow and we learn from them. We are not bad people. We just tend to think we are. Why?
Stigma is very real and we buy into it's propaganda. We allow other's to say the things deep down we believe. It took me years to realize I am not bad, ugly, or crazy. I am me. I am a woman living with mental illness. It is my albatross. It is my disease. I am not ashamed of it. Why should I be? I can't help that I have it. I have made poor decisions in the past. I dare you to find someone who has not been reckless or done something stupid. We are human. We are not Barbie dolls or glass figurines. We are not perfect. I refuse to judge myself harshly. What is the point? I can not change who I am. I will still have a mental illness in the morning. There is no magic potion or pill that will take it away. I am not going to waste my life being angry at myself. I have accepted who I am and all that goes with it. Am I selfish? Sometimes. Sometimes I don't want to share my candy or I want to be alone. Am I stupid? No, but I have made poor choices that seem stupid. Am I crazy? I am mentally ill not insane. I am not crazy, I am altered. Am I unlovable? No one is unlovable. As Marilyn  Monroe said, If you can not handle me at my worst then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best. Am I unacceptable? Only if I can not accept myself. I accept myself so, no I am not unacceptable. Am I unworthy? Of course not. Everyone is worthy. I may not be able to do some things. I may make mistakes but I get right back up and try again. I am worthy in this world, and so are you. Am I ugly? Beauty is a fickle thing. I am not a size zero. I am not a model or actress. I am a bright, funny, loving, loyal person. I am an honest, respectful, kind person. I am beautiful because I believe that beauty is more than straight teeth and perfect hair. It is more than high fashion and starving yourself. I believe that my personality shines through and makes me beautiful. I am not a doll, I am a woman. I am not perfect but am I beautiful? Your damn right I am. And if you don't agree, Hey that's your opinion and you know what they say about opinions. Why we harbor these bad thoughts toward ourselves is a mystery. Why we refuse to accept that we can be broken and beautiful at the same time, I will never know. But we can and we are. We are worthy of all life has to offer. We are lovable, strong, and beautiful. We are unique. When you start hearing the lies we tell ourselves, the negative and foul degrading comments, do me a favor. Block them out and start telling yourself the things that make you who you are. Start whispering to yourself the unique things that make you different and magnificent. Don't put yourself down. You are worth so much more than that. We are all unique. We are all amazing. We are all lost souls bumping into the walls trying to get out and find our purpose. Your purpose is just to be the unique, inspiring, one of a kind person that you are. We can change the world if we just learn to end the stigma without falling victim to it. We are not victims, we are fighters. We can find peace and acceptance. We can heal. We just have to learn to accept ourselves first. We are the color in a world full of grey. We are the unique in a world full of boring. Embrace that we are different and accept that it is ok to do so. Embrace that we are the ghosts in the machine. We are the fish in the waters. We are whatever we want ourselves to be. Embrace yourself and look around and see the world like I do. Free of self hatred. Free of negativity. Free of fear that I am not good enough. We are all good enough.
                                                        Neurotic Nelly

Hollow

Whole. Hollow. Hollowed out like a dead tree in the middle of a lush forest. There is not enough food in the world to feed it. No amount of concrete or brick dust can fill it. Never enough drugs or booze to make me forget. No amount of jewels or shiny baubles can make it pretty again.
This gaping whole where my soul should be. Where my center of gravity should be.This whole can never be filled by gifts or words. It can never be filled by promises or lies. I am starving. Ravenous. I need to fill the hollowness and I am unable to. I am unable to be completely whole no matter what I do or say. My mental illness has slowly eaten away at me. Left like a moth bitten fabric blowing in the breeze. Some wholes are tiny and some are big enough to poke your fingers through. I tried to patch them but they just keep tearing at the seams. Like trying to cover your black eye with bad makeup. Still I wish that my scars were on the outside rather than inside my mind. That way it would be a visible representation of my mental illness. No one would wonder how I can look normal and perfectly fine and not be. I just want to scream "Don't you see my scars? Can't you see the wholes inside me? Can't you see the hollowness?"
It frustrates them because they do not understand and it frustrates me because I can not make them. My hollowness can only be filled by working on myself. By believing in myself and believing that I am important and worthy. Day after day.
I wish people could see my mental illness. My life would be so much easier if everyone would be able to see me as I really am. A scarred, empty vessel, hollow log, broken glass, burnt paper, grasping at smoke, ashes in the wind mental case. Instead I look normal and therefore if I just try a little bit harder I can do things like everyone else. I can be like everyone else. Because I look fine then I must be fine. Because I look healthy then I must be healthy. Looks can be deceiving  I am a good person. A great mom. A loyal friend, but I am not fine, healthy, or normal. I can accept that but can others? Always the fight between seeing is believing and believing in things that you can not see. It would be easier for me to be normal. It would be easier for me to be fine. It would be easier for me to be mentally healthy, but I am not. Nothing about me is easy and neither is my life. I can change my appearance, my hair styles, my clothing. I can change my routines, my sleeping habits, my expressions. What I can not change is the the fact I live every day tethered to my mental illness. I can not change into normal. It doesn't work that way. I am trying my hardest to be what I am supposed to be. I am trying to fill the hollowness inside of me. It takes time and patience. It takes tears, prayers, and practice. It takes what ever else I throw at it to plug the wound , to fill this sink whole that is seeping down into the earth. Because I want so desperately to be whole. I wont be normal. Not ever, but I can be a better me. I can be less hollow. I only hope that it is enough.
                                          Neurotic Nelly

Stressed

Stress is a constant in our lives. It is sweaty palms and feeling faint. Tightness is your chest and shortness of breath. The world spinning around and feeling drunk. Nausea and physical pain. It is panic attacks and depression. It is falling down the rabbit hole head first and ending up in wonderland. Except instead of happy bunnies and mad hatters drinking tea you are met with mad bill collectors and cranky telephone salesmen demanding information and explanations. Instead of potions that make you small and cupcakes to make you big, you are left with bills that make your wallet small and cupcakes you can't afford. Stress is the red queen and she wants to lop off your head. She wants your time, your money, and your fear. She revels in being sadistic and mean. She wants to harass and badger you to death. She sucks. I am really tired of stress.
Sitting here watching bad reality t.v. like Operation Repo, I have decided that I would like to repossess some of my sanity. Not all of it mind you, as I never had all of my sanity. Just the amount I used to have before I started to know stress at such a familiar level. I would like to lighten the load a bit. I have no idea how to do this as of yet. I am just trying to stay positive. Sometimes I find being positive almost impossible but I keep trying. I try because I want to be anything but sad and depressed. I try because I want to set a positive role model for my children. I try because I truly believe it will get better in time and with a lot of work. In a world of Alice's and red queens, we owe to ourselves to keep trying. To keep getting up in the morning and face the day no matter how stressed out we are. It's hard. It stinks, but it is necessary. Whether, it is stress because of bills, medical concerns, worries, family issues, or all of the above we can prevail. We can take back some of our sanity one grain at a time.
 So my blog today is a message to the stressed. We can do this. We can get up and face the day.Hard as it may be. We are worth it.

And on a side note I would like to wish George ST. Pierre good luck in his fight tonight. I do not know him personally but he is my favorite MMA fighter.

Love

We as people are in love with the thought of being in love. That is why we read romance novels. That is why we adore love stories. That is why love ballads are popular. Why there are hundreds of videos on youtube showing our favorites kiss scenes form movies and tv shows. We as individuals live to love. We long to be loved. Love is amazing and makes you feel slightly insane with the joy of it. When it is good it is terrific and when it is bad it is awful.
Finding love is simple enough. Finding the right love is much harder. Loving can only be real love if you love yourself. Loving yourself enough to know that if it's a bad relationship you need to let it go. Loving yourself enough to know that you deserve respect and honesty.
To be treated well you have to first realize that you are worthy to be treated well. Most of us have no idea that what we accept in relationships is how we feel we should be treated. My first marriage was a disaster  I felt I deserved the crap that he pushed on me. I deserved to be talked down too. I deserved to be told I was nothing. I was too fat and then too skinny. I was too dumb but used to many big words. I deserved to be cheated on and lied too. And I believed him.
After the divorce I realized the crap I put up with. I realized I had never learned to love myself and so I let others treat me the way I saw myself. I wasn't in love I was just in love with the thought of love.
I do not let others treat me that way anymore. I have real love now. I am thankful for the experience that showed me what I was doing to myself. What I allowed others to do to me.
I love me. I accept me. I don't need anyone to validate that. I don't need anyone to tell me what to think or how I should feel. I expect to be treated with the dignity and respect I deserve. I will not waste my time on those that can not or will not take the time to see me for who I am. I am not their mother's and I do not have time to teach them how to behave. I choose who I spend my time with. I choose who I talk to. I get to choose because it is my life and I am in control of myself. It is very freeing to realize that.
Abuse is invisible at first. It slowly creeps up on you until you are in the middle of it. You get so tangled up in it that you do not realize that is the life you are living. Your self esteem is washed away and you begin to doubt yourself and hate yourself at the same time. Real love is many things but it is never abusive. No one deserves to be treated that way.
                                        Neurotic Nelly

Just be

 My mind is like a cavern with many rooms. Most of them are full of old junk, old memories, painful and stinging  The walls of each room are made of stone and plaster. Wood posts keep the thatched ceiling from falling in. Sitting in the dark listening to the quietness. It wraps me like a warm blanket and muffles out the world. I hear the dripping faucet and my heart beats in time with it. Learning to just be. Learning to shut out the world for a few minutes. Learning to just listen.
Learning to love yourself is like water dripping from a faucet. One drip at a time. One day at a time. One week at a time. One month at a time.
I have been sitting in this dark room for too long. I have started to get antsy and restless. I feel an itch and I need to scratch it. I have started picking at the edges of the wall paper to occupy my hands. I have torn off bits of myself a piece at a time. I am just trying to discover what is underneath. I am trying to learn what my purpose is. Trying to figure out what my worth is. We all go through this. We all hurt and want to staunch the pain. I don't want to just treat the pain I want to know the reason. I want to scream at the walls and force them to give me an answer. I want to peel off the wallpaper and see what holds up these walls? These walls inside my head. I want to break them down and touch the beams. I want to expose the dark secrets and recesses that keep me sick. I want to seek them out and make them pay. I want to learn to be still. I want to learn to be patient. I need to learn to just be.
 I have learned to accept many things. I have learned to love myself. I have learned to accept my mental illness. I have learned to always stand up and be counted. I am a fighter. I have yet to figure out how to stop remodeling in my brain. I always feel the need to take out the old supports and build new ones. Maybe that is healthy. Maybe that is what keeps me gong. Maybe tearing down the dark rooms in my mind heal me. I have no idea. I just know that right now I am in the mood to break something and savor the sound of it crashing to the floor. My rage notwithstanding, today I am going to build something pretty inside my head and tear down something ugly. I am going to tear down a room that is full of bad memories and pain and set them free. Stacked up like broken old suitcases thrown in there half-hazardly and forgotten or locked away so I could force myself to forget. I need to do some spring cleaning. I need to empty these rooms and clean them. I need to just be.

The Story of US

This is My truth. So this is your truth and this is the story of us.You were always two years older than me. Smarter than me, stronger than me, better than me, you always had it all figured out. And I always looked up to you. I learned from you.You had the prettier darker red hair. The first to get a perm. To drive. To wear makeup. To get boyfriends. The first to become a woman. And I always looked up to you. I learned from you.
We used to dance in circles singing silly songs. Dresses blowing in the breeze and our pony tails coming undone. Secret whispers in each others ears. Jumping in rain puddles and climbing trees. Playing dolls and coloring in coloring books. Sunburns and cold vinegar baths. Eating pickles and drinking the juice till our stomachs turned sour. Dreams, hopes, and secrets we shared. I wish we could go back to before the ground crumbled beneath our feet and we tumbled down to the earth like discarded rag dolls. Before we grew up. Before damage was brought upon us and we faltered. Before you flirted with the demon that plagues you. Before the sporadic phone calls with you taking a hit and talking rapidly hoping for me to judge so you could have a reason to turn away from me. But I never judged. I refuse to judge you. I have made mistakes too even if I never went down the road you did. And I always looked up to you. I learned from you.
I always wonder if my face is yours still. Maybe our eyes are still the same. Maybe today you will answer my phone call or texts. Maybe today I can feel whole again like when we were kids. Like when we sisters and not strangers. I can still see us dressing up in Mom's closet. Trying so hard to be adults. What did we trade being a kid for? Months worrying if you are ok. Are you still clean? Are you hungry? Has the demon come back to finally claim you? One more false promise of a few hours to forget your pain.
I never know where you are so I dream of us when time was kind and we were each other's everything. We were two halves of a whole. Now what am I? Doomed to walk around like I have lost something that I can not find. I have somehow lost you, and I never meant too. I have misplaced you and left you on the dresser like a painted knick-knack somewhere. Or maybe you have misplaced me. Maybe we have misplaced each other. It doesn't matter.
What matters is that one day the demons will come to claim you if you flirt with them anymore. That all of my understanding and non judgments can not change that. That you are trapped in a prison of your past and you are living in your own hell. You live so very far away and even if you were standing beside me you would still be to far to reach.That one day I will get the call from someone I don't know, and be told  that you have gone forever. That a gaping hollow whole will open up and I will never be able to fill it. I will never be the same. That I will never get over loosing you. That I will hear your voice when I talk and be unable to speak again. Because we have always sounded the same. I will never be able to face the mirror again. Because we have always been so similar. Because I didn't have the courage to beg you to stop loudly enough. Because I was afraid you would turn me away. Because I want to yell at you and beg you not to leave me alone. Not like this. Because I am trying to be you and be strong. Because I am trying to be you and be smart and better. Because I always looked up to you. I learned from you. Because I love you. Because I miss you. Because I will have no one to share a sister's secrets with. Because all I have left are fragile bits of memories. That I clutch them so tight I risk breaking them.They are fragile shards of glass and they cut me every time I look at them. The pain cuts me and I weep. And I always looked up to you. I always learned from you. And I always loved you.
                                          Neurotic Nelly

Letter to a Friend

Dear Friend,
Sometimes in life we falter. Sometimes everything seems to go awry. We are angry, confused, and  afraid. Can we live without this person? Can we function on a daily basis? Can we be anything but broken?
We fall from Grace like broken winged angels no longer able to fly.We are all the walking wounded. We have all been damaged. Damaged by our past, by others, by ourselves. Damaged by our choices, by our environments, by our refusal to accept ourselves. We bump into each other on the sidewalks never looking into each other's faces. Never bothering to see the other person stumbling along beside us. We are sometimes concentrated on our own lives so intently that we forget to see other's suffering. We limp along thinking we are the only one's hurting.
We walk along the lonely road shivering in the cold. Believing that we are not worth the time wasted on us. Believing that we deserve to suffer. Some of us have fought for our country. Some of us have fought only for our souls. Some of us have fought wars in our own minds. All of us have waged war against our beliefs. Against our personal truths. Waged wars in our own lives. Sometimes we loose loved ones. Sometimes the binds that tie us together are broken and we are left shattered on the ground. Sometimes we loose our livelihoods. We are left with nothing but the clothes on our back and no shoes upon our feet. Sometimes we loose ourselves. Leaving a stranger blinking back in the mirror.
I do not know why we suffer so, I am not a great philosopher.  I do believe we suffer to be able to accept joy when it comes. I believe that as the binds that tie us together get severed we are able to form new ones with others. I believe that this life makes us strong.
I can not be where you are. Our lives circle in different paths. That does not mean I do not see you. That does not mean I do not hear you. I have lived in the hell you are visiting for so long I chose the wallpaper. I hope you like blue butterflies and yellow stripes.
We are distrusting. We often feel invisible. We believe that nothing is given to us without expectations or strings attached. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. To be pulled into something that will hurt us.
This letter to you is my offering. My gift to you. I only have one expectation. That you take my gift of friendship without fear or distrust.  You said once that you didn't think I was put in your life to watch over you. I am sure that is true but why are any of us put in anyone's life? Maybe it is to help you. Maybe it is to help me. Maybe it is to teach us something. I have always believed that people come into your life for a reason. To help, to teach, to befriend, to learn. I can not tell you what to do. What I can do is listen. What I can do be there for you. What I can do is never judge.  What I can  do is text you your positive truths. You are worthy of happiness. You are talented. You are beautiful. What you have to say is important. You are worthy of other's people's time. You are strong. You are a caring and amazing person. You are you and there is no one in the world like you.  You are my friend. The world would be a sadder more bitter place without you.  These are your truths. We are all the walking wounded and I am thankful that I get to stumble along beside you for awhile.
                                      Sincerely, Neurotic Nelly